


A Helping Hand

by writemydreams



Series: SladeRobin Week 2017 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Consent, Daddy Issues, M/M, Past DickKori, SladeRobin Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemydreams/pseuds/writemydreams
Summary: The transition from Robin to Nightwing didn’t come without conflict. Bruce and Dick are still at odds, Dick’s furious that Bruce gave the Robin mantle to Jason, and the only thing that helps ease his anger is taking down criminals. He runs into Deathstroke while interrogating a heroin dealer and finds there’s a different way to relieve his tension.Edit: Chapter 2 is now going to be under the "Predator" prompt for Day 5.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Daddy Issues" prompt. I thought the period where Jason is newly Robin made a perfect opportunity for some daddy issues to come out, especially how in some versions Dick is fired instead of deciding he's grown out of Robin. Dick is 18 in this so he is of age. 
> 
> Thanks to Luna for reading and helping me whenever I got stuck!
> 
> Dick is wearing his uh lovely Discowing suit for this fic. He's quite new to Nightwing now.

Dick never expected to find himself at such odds with Bruce. Bruce was his mentor, his guardian, his Batman. The man was like a father to him! In another year, Dick would have spent more time as Bruce Wayne’s ward than as John and Mary Grayson’s son. So their conflict about Dick being Robin (and then Nightwing once he decided it was time) and the choices he made in his civilian life hurt. Even worse, Bruce had made Jason into Robin. That was his _mother’s_ name for him. Robin belonged to him! Bruce couldn’t give Robin to Jason like a hand-me-down jacket. 

So Dick was angry. Rightfully so. He carried his anger during patrol, puns and jokes replaced with silence and punches. His newfound aggression hadn’t gone unnoticed by Bruce either. Yesterday he’d had the audacity to scold him for being too harsh. That was real rich coming from him. If Bruce could get his head out of his own ass long enough to _talk_ to Dick about why he was so upset instead of giving him orders or lecturing him, then they’d have a chance to fix their relationship before it was damaged beyond repair. 

Just thinking about Bruce made him want to punch someone. Good thing he’d have a chance soon. Dick took a breath as he focused on the closed down laundromat across the street. A group of heroin dealers had taken up residence inside. Dick’s research had yet to reveal if they worked for the mob or operated under a local drug lord or lady. No matter. They’d spill the beans on their operation tonight. Dick would make sure of that. He settled down on the rooftop for his surveillance. So far he’d seen four men enter the building and none come out. Likely, there were more inside. Dick watched the door open to reveal a man with pale skin and an ugly scar along his cheek. He wore a red hoodie, faded jeans, and a tattered backpack that was no doubt stuffed with product. Dick shook his head. Could this guy look any sketchier if he tried? He watched the dealer jam a beanie onto his bright red hair, scan the area, then hurry down the street. 

He never saw or heard Dick coming. Dick let the man get half a block away before he struck. He seized his backpack, dragging him around the corner of a building to slam him up against the wall. “Listen up, scumbag. You’re going to tell me who you’re working for or you’ll be picking your teeth up off the sidewalk.” He easily dodged the punch aimed for his head while the man cursed at him. 

“Fuck off, hero. I’m not telling you shit!” 

“I’m in a really bad mood tonight. You’re going to want to cooperate with me.” Dick swept the dealer’s legs out from under him then stomped down hard on his wrist when he caught him reaching for a gun. “You seriously think you could pull a gun on me? You’re even dumber than you look.” He cocked his head to look down at the snarling criminal. “Which is no small feat. Now tell me who you’re working for.” 

“His employers are no longer your concern, Nightwing.”

Dick stiffened at the sound of Slade Wilson’s voice. Great. Just what he didn’t need: Deathstroke in Gotham. Slade’s voice came from further down the street. Dick spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see him fully armored and standing outside the laundromat with a bloody sword. Shit. While Dick chased down this man, Slade was inside killing everyone. 

The man at his feet realized that too. He clutched at Dick’s boots in desperation. “Please, Nightwing! I’ll tell you everything! Just keep Deathstroke away from me,” he begged.

Dick stood. “I will.” He grabbed the dealer by his jacket and pulled him up. “Talk first then run.” Slade was always a formidable opponent. Dick knew he wouldn’t be able to get information, protect Slade’s target, and fight him off at the same time. Slade was clearly mocking them as he took his time in cleaning the blood off the sword. He made no attempt to follow them either. 

Max Gold, as the dealer turned out to be, blabbed without shame. Dick’s anger resurfaced upon hearing that the drugs weren’t affiliated with the mob at all. He worked for a local gang known as the Siren. Sirens had their hands in drugs, sex trafficking, blackmail… Max was despicable, but Dick wouldn’t let Slade murder him. Everyone deserved a chance. Dick shoved Max back, the tiny tracker he’d planted activating the moment it connected with Max’s jacket. “Go!” He ordered. Dick would catch up to Max later and bring him to the GCPD. He listened to Max run before he turned to face Slade. “Why did you kill them all?” 

Slade tossed the blood-stained cloth aside. “I haven’t yet. My job isn’t complete until that little rat is dead. Move aside, kid. You don’t have your alien girl to shoot starbolts at me for getting too close to you this time. “ 

Dick gritted his teeth. All Slade had to do now was make a snide remark about Batman and then he’d have thrown salt in all of Dick’s wounds. “I can handle you without Kori’s help. I have before, Slade. Now put the sword down and fight me. I’m not going to let you kill Max.” He steps back into a defensive stance with his fists up. 

Slade walked towards him. “You could use her assistance in burning off that suit. Not your style, kid. That collar makes it far too easy for someone to grab.”

Dick scoffed. “You won’t be able to grab me.”

Oh how wrong he was. Dick knew it too when Slade caught his boot before the kick could connect with his head. Slade swung him into the wall. Dick braced for the impact, flipping forward to lash out with a flurry of punches. Three hit their mark. Dick danced back out of Slade’s reach and waited for the next move. Slade, like other enhanced humans, was tricky. Dick needed to be close enough for his blows to land on him. Except being that close put him within Slade’s reach and a blow from him could easily break bone if he wasn’t careful. 

“You’re fighting like Batman, little bird. Not in the mood to do a backflip over my head tonight?” Slade taunted. 

Dick dove forward into a roll to escape a kick that could easily have broken ribs. “Don’t compare me to him,” he hissed. Robin had been trained by Batman. Nightwing was a new hero who didn’t operate in anyone’s shadow. And Nightwing was purely Dick. As Robin, he’d learned to develop his own fighting style because Bruce’s wouldn’t work for him. Bruce mostly stayed on the ground, using his fists and height to his advantage. Dick was smaller. He always had been and he always would be. So he’d mixed acrobatics into his martial arts training, honing that as Robin until he perfected it as Nightwing. Criminals were rarely prepared for a half aerial fight. 

Slade’s helmeted head cocked. “Touched on a delicate subject?” 

“Don’t act like you care.” Dick would never admit to Slade that he was right. That he constantly itched for a fight to burn up his excess rage and energy. Against an opponent of Slade’s caliber, that could wind up deadly. Dick bent backwards to dodge a kick, diving under Slade’s arm to jab his fist into his jaw. If he could get Slade’s helmet off he’d have a better chance of winning this fight. Throw dirt into his good eye, pepper spray, use a smoke bombg… anything he could to end this. Dick cursed when Slade’s fist connected with his ribs. Nothing broke or cracked under the impact, but he would have a livid bruise tomorrow. Another to add to his collection. 

Before he could twist away, Slade’s fist closed around the collar of Dick’s suit. He slammed him up against the wall and pressed the tip of a knife against his throat. “You lose, kid. Stand down.” 

Dick wisely held still. It wasn’t the first time someone pulled a knife on him. It wouldn’t be the last. He knew several moves to get him out of this situation, but he wanted to press the advantage and see if he could get Slade to talk. “Heroin dealers are pretty small time for you. Why are you going after them instead of your usual targets?”

“That’s private information. Beyond your pay grade unless you’ve got your daddy’s money to back you up.” 

Dick’s fists clenched. “You wouldn’t talk even if I paid you.” 

Slade had noticed his reaction. “No, I wouldn’t. You’ve always been the talker and you’ve been so quiet tonight. Are you mad that your daddy replaced you with a newer model?”

“Private information,” Dick shot back. 

Slade laughed. He sheathed the knife, keeping his arm up to pin Dick in place. “So that’s the reason you’ve been so aggressive lately. I’m not looking to kill you or the Titans anymore, Grayson, so consider yourself fortunate. You wouldn’t have made it out of this alley alive with your head in the wrong place.” He stepped back to release Dick. “Go home. You’re going to get yourself killed at this rate.”

Dick refused to let an enemy lecture him. He landed a furious high kick to the back of Slade’s head when he dared to turn away. “I don’t work for you, Slade. So don’t you dare tell me what to do,” he spat. He ducked under Slade’s arm to drive a punch into his ribs. He knew Slade’s armor from years of experience fighting him. There were weaker points to it that, when hit hard enough, could even give Slade pause. Slade blocked his blows and intercepted a kick so he could once again send Dick flying into the wall. The second time Slade caught him, Dick realized their fight was beginning to have an effect on him. Mortification had his cheeks burning. No, no, and no. He was _not_ getting erect from fighting Slade Wilson!

As much as Dick wished he could say he won the second fight, it didn’t happen that way. Once more he was pinned up against the alley wall with Slade standing victorious in front of him. He didn’t need a knife to keep Dick in place this time. His own embarrassment did enough of that. 

Slade glanced down to see how his cock strained against the cup and the suit. “This from fighting with me?” His fingers skimmed down his side to come came dangerously close to his cock. 

Dick finally found his voice. “Let go of me.” He did his best to glare at Slade’s helmet rather than sink into humiliation. He hadn’t been with anyone since he and Kori broke up last month so all the physical contact with Slade must’ve sent his hormones into overdrive. Getting aroused after a fight did not mean he was attracted to the man. Dick could remember being in a similar state after sparring with Bruce sometimes. That didn’t mean he wanted to do anything sexual with Bruce!

Slade was clearly smirking under the helmet. “You sure about that? You look like you could use some assistance.”

Dick’s response was cut off by Slade’s armored, muscular thigh pushing between his legs to rub up against his erection. Dick’s gloves scrabbled against the wall for purchase as he fought to keep himself from rocking down. “Y-You want to get me off?” He flushed as the words came out breathy. What was going on? They were supposed to be fighting! 

Slade drew back. “Only if you want it. I’m not blind, kid. You were pretty as Robin. Still are even with that suit. Now I can give you a hand or I can go after your new dealer friend and leave you to struggle with your morals about getting hard from fighting me.” 

Dick swallowed. “Take off your helmet.” 

Slade reached up to pull it off. He’d trimmed his hair since the last time Dick had seen him without the helmet and he wore his usual black eyepatch over the missing eye. Slade’s expression of desire made Dick wonder if asking him to remove the helmet was a mistake. It made everything feel more real. How long had Slade thought of him like this? Ever since they’d started fighting as Robin and Deathstroke? He’d been fifteen then. “You’ve got a minute to make up your mind.” 

Dick cracked. “Yes.” 

Slade surprised him by grabbing his hips and pulling him away from the wall. He spun him, pressing Dick’s back to his chest. Slade removed his gauntlet to palm Dick through his suit. He groaned, hips rocking back against Slade’s. “I confess, pretty bird, I’ve thought of this since you were flaunting your legs as Robin. Now you’re showing off your chest.” He found a nipple and pinched it hard before doing the same to the other. Dick shivered against him, biting down on his lip to keep from begging Slade to do it again. Slade worked his hand inside the suit to wrap his fingers around Dick’s cock and stroke him. It was rough without lube. Dick didn’t care though. “I wondered what it’d be like to have a lover as flexible as you in my bed,” Slade murmured in his ear as his free hand alternated between pinching and tugging Dick’s nipples. 

Dick grabbed at Slade to find a hold on the gun belt across his chest. “Y-Yeah?” he groaned. His eyes closed as strong fingers continued to stroke him. 

“You on your back with your legs hooked over my shoulders. Moaning my name as I mark up your pretty thighs.” Slade’s wrist twisted just so and Dick’s legs almost buckled. The loud moan he let out would’ve been humiliating if Slade’s hands on him didn’t feel so good. “You like the sound of that? Or maybe I should bend you over and fuck you on one of the rooftops you love flipping off of so much.” 

“Yes,” Dick moaned. His head dropped back onto Slade’s shoulder. “A-All of it.” His voice sounded wrecked and he knew he must look it too. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be wanting to have sex with Deathstroke! He’d been furious when Bruce fell in love with Talia and now, here he was letting _Slade Wilson_ jerk him off in an alley mere doors down from where he’d just killed numerous people. 

Slade ceased toying with his nipples to yank down the collar of Dick’s suit. “Have you fantasized about this before?” He bit down on the junction between neck and shoulder and pumped him faster. Harder. The sounds Slade pulled from him were truly desperate, even as Dick tried to muffle them. 

Dick closed his eyes. How could he answer while the pleasure took over all brain activity? “S-Slade, I…” he trailed off with another moan. His hips rocked forward, back arching as he felt his orgasm building. Slade didn't push him to talk. He gave each nipple one final pinch before gripping Dick’s hip to rock him back. Dick bit down on his own glove to stifle his cry as he came. He was vaguely aware of Slade holding his shivering body against his as Dick worked to catch his breath. “You’re good.” He twisted out of Slade’s grip. He didn’t know how to handle the fact that he’d allowed Slade to give him a handjob and enjoyed it, that Slade had thought about fucking him since he was Robin, and how Dick admitted to desiring it. What was wrong with him? 

He cursed as he felt the mess in the underwear. At least Slade had had him facing away from him so he couldn’t see that he’d ruined Dick’s Superman print briefs.


End file.
